Tell Her You Love Her
by 7dreamers-scenarios
Summary: "I am not a brave soul, Petra. I am broken, and afraid, and angry as all hell most of the time. My soul is blackened, and my heart's in pieces—but—God—it's yours. It's always been yours." LevixPetra. Rated M for lemons and language.
1. Step One: Tell Her a Story

**Tell Her You Love Her**

 **Drabble Series: Just a non-chronological look at the journey through love, pain, and death of a relationship with Levi and Petra. Lemons/Lime/Adult Language to be expected.**

 _ **Step One: Tell Her a Story**_

"Tell me something." Her voice is soft against my neck.

"Something."

Rolling her eyes, she swats my arm gently. "No. Tell me—tell me a story." And then, before I can breathe a single syllable to life, "A true story."

Wincing internally, a swarm of agonizing memories come tumbling from their neatly stacked boxes. Each one howling and begging and screaming to be spoken; to be remembered; to be realized and put to rest. They open their jaws wide, lions with a need to feed. They stain everything in red and poison. A beautiful woman stands in the corner, pulling at the stings of the little lions, making them dance and scream. Her crimson dress whips around her, masking her face save for one cobalt eye. It electrifies me. I know that eye. I have seen it before, but never so alive; never so vivid.

Sweat pools over my forehead, at my nape, in my hands. The bitter taste of memories pungent on my tongue. Making it hard to breathe. Making it hard to swallow. But, I shake it off; I force it down.

"I'm not good at storytelling. You know that," I say, my voice too loud in the silence of the barracks.

A feminine hand strokes my hair, spinning it like thread through tiny fingers. "Please. I want to know something about you, Levi. You know so much about me. My life. My dreams. Everything, but I—I feel as if I sleep beside a stranger. A figment of my imagination. And, I just want proof that you—Levi Ackerman—are in fact, real."

The pink that stains her freckled cheeks sends my heart into overdrive, fluttering wildly beneath the palm of my hand. _What is this feeling? What has this woman done to me?_

Her amber eyes are glowing in the starlight of the window: watching; waiting; wanting. My lungs demand more air; my heart demands more space. And, my head demands answers for these foreign _feelings_.

I part my lips after a pregnant pause long enough to span the entire room three times over, and tell a story. A true story. A painful story.

"Alright," I begin, sitting up against the headboard, disconnecting this _figment_ _of_ _imagination_ from her veritable, warm, inviting—naked—body. My elbows dig into the sides of my knees, filling the hollow space, not entirely unlike the space she's taken residence in in my heart. And a part of me hopes that she, too, is not a figment of _my_ imagination. That she is not just some plume of enchanted smoke beguiling me with pretty smiles and feathery kisses.

I shake that thought away, willing it back to a dark corner of my mind as a story I've never spoken aloud comes tumbling onto the scratchy wool of the blanket surrounding us.

"There was a boy. A very young boy who lived in a very small castle. His mother, the queen, loved him very much. She used to sing lullabies in ancient tongues, and dance around symbols painted in blood and salt. Her laugh was a song; her love: magic.

But magic provokes misunderstandings, hatred even. Her magic is what killed her. The king, he fled from the castle, holding the queen's magic in his hands. He murdered her. And there was no more magic left in the world from that day forward. He buried it with all the other lost treasures of the world."

The room is quiet with only the distant hum of wind sliding past the windows. My throat is dry; my mouth is numb. I don't think I've ever said so many words—silly words that I'm unsure even make any coherent sense. Heat is rising and rupturing over my skin, giving way to a blush to match her perpetual one.

"You see," I say, unable to keep the sarcastic, cynical bastard inside me at bay, "I told you I'm no good with stories."

Glistening tears stream down her cheeks. _Dammit, how do you do that, Levi? How do you manage to always break this girl's heart?_

A muddled, uncomfortable apology squeezes past my lips, but is overshadowed by her broken voice. "What happened to the boy?"

"What?" Poorly disguised surprise lines my voice, and the lines of my face.

"The little boy in your story—what ever happened to him? Did someone come back for him?"

A man with dark, menacing, hell fire eyes looms over the bed. The slash across his cheeks barely passing as a smile.

"Yes."

It must have been the way that single syllable fled my tongue that caused the tremor on her face, for she looked half scared, half confused, but she let it go. She didn't ask for the details on who. Didn't notice that shadow hanging over the bed with a wicked grin.

"That little boy—it was you, wasn't it?"

Sliding back down beside her in the bed, I let my fingers snake over her thighs. I needed to be inside something warm, and real, and living. I needed to forget about that little boy and his castle and his queen. Liquid gold eyes flickered, but understood, and just like that her lips were kissing away memories and stories better left forgotten.

XXX

 **Author's Note: Just a short scene between lovers. Like I said, this will go in no particular order. Hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading!**


	2. Step Two: Tell Her the Honest Truth

**Disclaimer: I do NOT own Attack on Titan or any of its characters.**

 **Tell Her You Love Her**

 _ **Step Two: Tell Her the Honest Truth**_

 _ **Bam. Bam. Bam**_ **.**

"Huh?" I sat up tiredly in my cot. "Who the—what time is it?"

Glancing toward the veiled window, I note the lack of any gray or pink light coming through. _Still nightfall? Who would come by my barracks at this hour?_

"Oulo! I swear if it's you playing one of your tricks again!"

Placing a hand on the doorknob, I fling it open, but am not greeted at all by the face I expected. There is a familiar shadow standing there, his hands shoved in his pockets, slouching in the doorway. His clothes are soaked through— _is it raining?—_ and his inky hair is matted and pressed to his forehead unkemptly. Stormy eyes shine in the candlelight of a scone poised behind him. Thin lips are carved in a straight, formidable line.

"Captain?" I ask, brows disappearing into my hairline. Levi Ackerman in my doorway…in the middle of the night… I am to say the least, a bit shocked. "What are you—why are you all wet?"

Then I hear it, the rain tapping against the window. Nodding, I take a step back, offering him room to slide past me. With one long stride of his legs, he stands stiffly beside me as I gently press the door closed.

"So?" I ask, a tremor lilting my voice. I thank God for the cover of darkness in my tiny room as heat radiates through my cheeks and neck.

 _Very smooth, Petra…_

I try again. "Are you all right, Captain?"

A sigh escapes his pale lips, voice shaking strangely, "So, I lied to you."

 _Interesting…_

Cocking my chin, I ask, "When?"

"Tonight." His voice gains more of its usual assurance. One moon-white hand coming to pinch the bridge of his nose.

Is he…is he embarrassed?

I smirk. "About?"

"This," he gestures between us with a slender hand, "About how I—feel." That one word sticks to his tongue, barely releasing into the space shrinking before us. His eyes shift downward, unable to look into mine; unable to be vulnerable even as he spills his heart.

 _ **Thump. Thump. Thump.**_

My heart is pounding wildly in my ears, and it's all I can do to stay upright—to keep breathing. Is he about to admit to what I think? I feel my knees buckle and my breath hitch. I can't feel my fingers anymore. I can't keep my eyes from watering.

"Captain, don't. Please, you don't—like you said, we have had enough emotional turmoil and heartbreak for one lifetime."

Stepping forward, he closes in on me and grabs my shoulders with two trembling hands.

"Let me finish," his eyes are more intense than ever before, threatening to spill that storm within into the atmosphere around us. And for the first time I really see him. I see the fear; the heartbreak; and most terrifyingly, I see a glimpse of… _love_.

"I am not a brave soul, Petra. I am broken, and afraid, and angry as all hell most of the time. My soul is blackened, and my hearts in pieces—but—God—it's yours. It's always been yours. " His breath is ragged, and a bar of estranged moonlight falls on his face exposing the haggard tiredness of each line. Each word falls slowly— _tentatively_ —from his mouth, like he is tiptoeing over glass. Like he's tiptoeing over a battlefield. Like he's tiptoeing over my heart.

He edges over fault lines. Desperation clinging to his voice like a scared child. And those eyes are wild—labeling me as a threat; an enemy; a _lover_. I find that I have seen this look before. I realize it's always been there, poorly hidden behind the gray and the bored and the lies. "I am the one that is destined to break you, to break your heart, like everything else in my life. But, I don't—I can't allow myself to do that to you. And—I know you love me. I have known for a while."

A furious blush stains my cheeks. _So, he did know…all this time?_

"And, I thought that if we just never dealt with it that we would be ok. That if I never faced the truth, I wouldn't break you, but then tonight when that truth stared me down I panicked and I ran from it—like a dammed coward. I did exactly what I feared: I broke the one heart that matters most to me."

His hand runs the length of my shoulder, past my collarbone, to my breast, over my rapidly beating heart. I can't swallow. I can't breathe.

Quietly, so quietly, so that it's little more than a whisper, I ask anxiously, "What truth?"

A crooked smile lifts one corner of his mouth. He places a sure hand under my chin, lifting my face to look up into his. I feel my heart shatter under the weight of such a rare and tragically beautiful smile. "Haven't you guessed yet?"

I feel his breath wash over my lips, his own mouth ghosting mine. Eyes wide open. Eyes wide truth. A whisper; a prayer; a promise: "I love you."

Sealing his lips to mine, I feel my heart stop and restart, rebuilding itself. Repairing those pieces into something akin to a heart. His hands hold my face, pulling me closer to his sopping wet form, tugging me into the embrace between our lips. My hands cling to the front of his soaked shirt, unwilling to let the moment end for fear that it was the only one I'd get.

Reluctantly, we both came up for air; our faces centimeters apart, our lips brushing gently. A stream of tears run their way silently down my face. My shoulders tremble beneath the weight of his fingertips—under the weight of a dream.

I am squeezing my eyes shut, praying that I never wake up from this—that I can live in this singular moment of happiness life has granted me—when I hear his gruff voice say, "Why is it that I always end up making you cry no matter what I do?"

"Because, you scare the hell out of me."

Peeling away from him, I shiver and close my eyes, "You have a hold on my heart that I cannot explain, and it terrifies me. It beats for you, Levi. It is yours to hold or to break, and to know that someone has that much control is petrifying."

Wide eyed, I had for a change, shocked him. His mouth opens and closes quickly, then without warning pulls me into another kiss. No words left to linger between us, only love. The room around us disappears; the only sound left is the rain pouring over the window and our heartbeats—beating as one, single, throbbing drum.

XXX

 **Author's Note: Thanks for reading. Please leave a review! I'd love to hear some feedback.**


	3. Step Three: You Treat Her Better

**Disclaimer: I do not own AoT (SnK) or its amazing cast of characters.**

 **Response to review written by Katarina123** **: Hahaha. This one confuses me a little too, so no worries there. I am just going wherever the music and words take me honestly. This is my "free" writing story. It's basically just a way to make me write every day, which is important. Writing is like any other skill: it takes a lot of practice. Anyway, I am sorry that it seems confusing at times. I am trying to do something kind of abstract and different with my writing. Like I have said before it doesn't connect chapter wise—not really—but certain themes are beginning to form if you look closely. I am glad that you at least get the feeling I am trying to convey, that's what I am developing most—or attempting to—with this story. Thank you for the encouragement! It was much needed!**

 **Tell Her You Love Her**

 _ **Step Three: You Treat Her Better**_

"Captain," she chirps. "Good morning."

Her smile steals my breath. She knows. She's aware of my frantically beating heart. I cannot stop thinking about the words we've uttered in the blackness of my room, nor the way her body fits into mine. I feel her lips press into mine. I sense her hands delving into my ribs, tugging out the broken, shaking, terrified husk that remains within me—the poor excuse I have left for a heart. She is listening, I realize—listening to each stutter within its song.

Her song. Our song. _God, I'm a sap…_

"Hn." _Perhaps not aloud._ I'm still working on using my vowels and consonants around her; still trying desperately to remember the eloquence I once possessed when the rest of our cadre comes tumbling into view.

They stumble and sway and shuffle toward the table, still drunk from last night's haul to the local brewery. Celebration for another day on earth. Celebration to still miraculously be among the living while so many remain chained to the dead.

But, I have never been so alive. Being dead means more than just moldering in the dirt, or deteriorating in the stomach of a titan, it's trudging through the menial and mundane just for the sake of your own heartbeat. To be alive—truly alive—is to fight for the heartbeat of another.

I want to tell her. I need to tell her. Say: "Petra, you mean more to me than life itself." That she is everything—that the sky, the stars, the sun never compared. But, not now. Not yet.

"I am _**NEVER**_ drinking again," Eld declares. His head's between his knees, and Gunther closes his eyes to the world, unable to keep the room from spinning otherwise.

But, they're smiling. They're _alive_. How nice it is to be among the living.

"I concur with this declaration," Oluo says. Petra's tinkling laugh erupts gently from her mouth, curling around the steam of my tea. It's never tasted so good—life. It's not so bad after all.

"You three could learn a thing or two from Captain Levi, you know," she says. A coy smile upturns her lips. My heart stumbles around drunkenly, joining the three idiots. "He's been hard at work every night."

"Yeah?" Gunther snickers, exchanging a knowing glance with Eld.

Petra's confusion litters her face with lines and tension. I peer over my teacup in complete bemusement. _So, they know, huh?_

"We've heard," Gunther chimes, dark eyes glinting mischievously. Still, she is oblivious, frustration taking place in her frown.

"What's that supposed to mean? You've heard what?" Amused glances are shared between the wobbling comrades. Oluo laughs quietly. Petra is there to pounce. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, Petra dear—it's you. We've heard _you_."

"I don—oh— _oh_!" A tiny hand covers her pretty pink pout. The shock that widens her eyes making her more doe-like than usual. She is aware of her heart racing beneath her breast now, and if I really try I can hear it, too. I hide a grin behind the safety of porcelain and steam.

 _You're so much it cleaves my heart right in half, Petra…_

"Yeah, we've heard a lot of " _ohs_ " coming from the Captain's room lately, haven't we boys?" Eld smirks at the rose petal blush that stains her cheeks.

"Among other things," Gunther adds.

"Lots of names—well, just one really," Oluo sniggers. "And lots of cursing from the other end."

I fix him with a glare to declare a small victory for myself. Oluo backs down graciously. Petra fumes and sputters from her stool, the cup before her rattling wildly in one hand. Her eyes meet mine in fear—then something else—ah, the fire.

The determination inherent in that heart of hers. She tries to protect me. To save my reputation as she growls, "It's not funny for you to joke like that about the Captain. He would nev—."

But, that's my job now. To protect her. To save her when she so desperately needs it. Like now. I cut her off, "Yes, Petra and I are a couple. Any issues? Speak now, or forever hold your peace."

Exchanging wayward glances, the three boys nod and stand, crowding her stool protectively. Gunther states solemnly, "Break her and die. Understood?"

Who says I'm alone in this duty as body guard? I smile inwardly, inclining my head once. "Loud and clear, gentlemen. Loud and clear."

Tears well in those eyes I've painted in my memory; eyes that I've dreamt of for months straight; eyes that have my stomach doing backflips and somersaults—without our gear. They shine in the candlelight guttering on the table, and I think maybe I can never truly protect her. Maybe I will always _only_ make her cry no matter how much I love her.

And then she smiles…

XXX

 **Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Please review!**


	4. Step Four: Make Sure To See It Through

**Tell Her You Love Her**

 _ **Step Four: Make Sure To See It Through**_

"I love you."

The words hang there in the space between us—the cool chasm collecting between our bodies. I bristle, each hair on my nape erect. Her eyes are expectant; searching; _craving_.

I clear my throat and stand; the warmth of her skin evaporating, making me shudder as I pause at the flickering hearth. The response to those three little words _should_ be automatic—they _should_ be easy. _I love you, too_ …they should float off the tip of my tongue, still connected to a delicate strand of saliva hanging between us. Simple, right?

They're not.

They're foreign. A new language for me to decipher, to decode in the map of her skin, in the taste of her laugh, in the fluttering of her heart. One that my callousness does not lend itself to.

How? How can a monster like me give away nothing but hatred, and cynicism, and broken heartbeats; and yet, receive a love like hers? Pure, undiluted, fantastical love. Magical love.

And, suddenly, a wiry, precocious child appears in the fire, cradling his mother's brittle bones—willing her lungs to work, to continue taking tremulous breaths. His eyes are determined— _fixed_ —with the desire to keep her magic alive. The only love he ever knew. The most precious thing he owned—the _only_ thing. But, she withered away in the stench of sweat, and sex, and lies, and the man holding all of her promises in his fingers ran away without ever looking back at his son. With all of her magic and none of her grief.

" _Levi…my boy…I love you."_ She'd whispered on her last breath. The life rattling from her throat—from her eyes.

"I love you, too." I murmur into my arm, braced against the wooden shelf just above the stone fireplace.

"Levi," her voice wraps around my name, pulling me back into the room; back into our tiny world. "Would you—would you mind if I slept here for the night?"

I give one curt nod before disappearing into the study adjoined to my room, pulling on my robe and pressing the door between us closed. Now was not the time for the past. It was not the time for sweet sentiments, or breathy sighs.

Now was the time for the magic of alcohol. For the elixir of bitter memories and clogged emotions.

 _I will wash this shit down. I will wash away these words…these feelings. There is no point in giving her promises I cannot keep…I will not be him._

 _I will not be him._

 _I will not…_

333

"I love you."

It was so faint I thought perhaps I'd dreamt it, but then her fingers brushed my hair behind the shell of one ear; her lips tender upon the skin right above my heart. It stutters, shaking beneath my ribcage, and I'm afraid it has given me away, but then she whispers, "I love you, Levi Ackerman. I love you with every fiber of my being—no matter what you do or don't say. I love you unconditionally. I love you for being everything you are."

I feel her smile blossom upon my skin, those feminine fingers tracing lazily over my arm. "For the shrewdness and callousness; the brashness and vulgarity; the obsessive compulsive and the cynicism."

My eyes begin to open, staring into the bars of moonlight illuminating the window. Her head is poised just below mine, missing them blink open and closed. I am prepared to interrupt her rambling with a sarcastic, witty blow, but then she murmurs: "I love you for the gentleness, and the kindness, and the sensitivity, and the love that you hold for this world. For the weight you burden yourself with—for the role you have taken on for the sake of mankind. Levi, I fall in love with you every day, and I hope someday that I can be half the person you are to me for you. That I can somehow repay this favor to the man who deserves it most. I want to be whatever you need."

Her breath is warm, but I feel her shivering beneath me. That's when I hear it: her tears. A soft, terrified cry suffocated behind quivering lips. Something in me longs to swipe those tears from her cheeks; to steal her pain; to utter those words until she falls asleep.

But, I don't.

I decide to see things through. Plans I've crafted meticulously; plans my mind has convinced my heart will make things easier— _simple_. Detached; logical; cunning; cold. These are the things that make up my core.

Evil: I am evil.

Levi Ackerman is not kind, or gentle, or loving. He does not care about people. Not really. But, the lie is deteriorating, giving way to an undeniable truth. That I do indeed care about humanity. Even so, I cannot attach myself to her. I cannot afford to lose focus.

To lose another person.

There they all are in the corner of the room, staring dead eyed from the shadows. Isabel; Farlan; mother. They all watch me as I squeeze out the most hateful, false words I've ever said: "Petra, you will never be that person for me. I don't need anything from you—anything but what you have already handed over to me so willingly."

It takes a moment for the words to register as they ring in the still, dead air. Once they do, once they finally settle over her ears, she is writhing away from me and jumping from my grasp. She looms over me—shaking with anger. Her teeth are bared, and she growls ferociously, "You lie. You always lie. Dammit, Levi! Why? Why's it so hard for you to admit that you actually need me—that you love me?!"

Tears shine in the darkness upon pale cheeks, making angry pools on her collarbone. I roll away, pulling the blanket to my chin. "Because I don't, Petra. Don't confuse lust for love, _girl_. You still have much to learn."

I am shocked when no fist meets my face. When I do not receive a swift kick to my ass. But, the door does slam, and I am left with my self-inflicted sorrow. I am left with a dissolving warmth beside me and a cut inside my palm from clenched fingernails. But, the pain is nothing compared to the agony of her voice as she screamed: " _ **LIAR**_!"

 _I_ _am_.

She is gone. Her patience is expended; love guttered like a low lit flame. I am alone. Just like I always wanted. Like I'd always _needed_.

How I wished that sentiment were true.

333

 **Author's Note: Thank you for reading.**


	5. Step Five: Don't Be Just Everything

**Disclaimer: I still do not own Attack on Titan.**

 **Author's Note: So, this chapter went a very different direction than I'd originally set out to go, but I felt the need to explore Levi and Petra's initial meeting. It isn't really accurate, I suppose—I made her a bit younger than she would have actually been at the time, but it was a necessary alteration. Anyway, I really hope it intrigues you guys and leaves you wanting more from this drabble series. Feel free to message me with any thoughts, concerns, or critiques. I really enjoy hearing from you guys!**

 **Tell Her You Love Her**

 **Step Five: Don't Be Just Everything She Wants**

"Please," a man cries, "Just kill me."

His right leg is nothing more than a bloody stump ending at the kneecap. The rest of the limb is in the maw of a twelve meter beast. His body lies crumpled, contorted in sickly angles unusual of the human anatomy, all twisted and twined and bloodied. Crimson droplets coat the blades of grass so thickly that the green becomes invisible beneath the vast sea. Death permeates the air, painting the sky with its victim's last bits of life. The stench of dying men and helplessness hang over the desecrated city, like a rain cloud ready to wring itself from the coming storm. Screams and howls ring like sirens over the thunder of the slow, sure footfalls of monsters—of death's arrival. Chaos ensues. Massacre unfolds. Hopelessness envelops all who witness the tragedy. The apocalypse is here, a priest says over the crashing of more homes—more lives. It is time.

"Someone, please—save us!"

"Save me!"

"Save her!"

"Save him!"

"Save yourself!"

"Save me!"

"Save—." Crunch.

Death comes all too quickly for the chorus of criers. Souls pass through the fingers, the jaws, the teeth, and throat of death, ending much too abruptly. They have children, they scream. They have dreams, they weep. They're too young, they yelp. They're just not ready, they stammer. But, the impartial, grim, merciless death receives them all the same. That's the thing about death—it's unbiased, uncolored by the taint of humanity, even fair; but it is not malicious. It is not evil, or cloaked, it simply is. Existing in tandem with life's flame, and eventually all mankind's embers smolder into ash and dust.

"Get behind the Wall—get to Wall Rose!" A soldier commands, looking death in the eye with a wavering stare—a fifteen meter mass of flesh, bone, and everlasting hunger.

Its eyes are bottomless, glittering pits in the setting sunlight, which casts everything in a sickly yellow glow. The blue of the sky disappears behind the smoke of canon fire and blood, blood, blood. Quaking, the ground shifts beneath the feet of those still sprinting from the fists of death, like a never ending earthquake. Battle cries cut through the pandemonium, settling into the rubble and destruction.

"Canons! FIRE!" A fleeting hope; a desperate grapple with life's betrayal and death's promise.

Still, the humanoid monsters continue their march through uprooted houses and broken glass; through body after body. Intent with their one purpose: to end humanity. Humanity, though, has a strong will to live—true survivors. They seem to cheat death more than any other earthly being, hiding in shadow, or cleverly outwitting death's deft hands. In the end, death still reigns supreme—cleverer still.

"Are you blind, son?" Frantic, a captain screams to reload the canons.

"No, sir! I'm sorry! They're just so…"

"Well, get your head outta your ass and kill some Titan's then! We've got a duty to our people!"

Our people, how valiant. Death's grip over humanities throat always seems to unleash this sort of gallantry—a bravery that is truly remarkable. Even more, it brings out the best in man's sense of community. If only humanity always worked so cohesively for one cause.

"Please, God," a woman whispers, bloodied knees kneeled over shattered bits of an altar, "Have mercy on our souls. Give us the strength to live on behind Your blessed Walls."

God, does not answer; only death. Her screams are swallowed up by the throat of another face full of death and carnage. Prayers wasted, she dies in the belly of a monster along with hundreds of other despairing souls. Where was God when these beasts broke through the once impenetrable walls? Where was He when the butchery began? Where was He when the Armored Titan appeared in a flash of spark and dust? Where was He? That's what man wondered the day that Wall Maria fell. The day that everything went black, red, and gray. The day that everything changed.

XXX

A small girl with hair the color of autumn leaves sits broken in the street, her eyes remote, miserable. The screams are muffled by the insistent buzzing in her ear—the voice of her mother: "Don't look, darling." She can't seem to get her eyes to cooperate with the command.

"C'mon! Move your asses! Get to the boats!" A soldier is ushering them impatiently through the hewn gate of Maria.

Petra's cheeks blossom with a feverish blush at the vulgarity of his tongue. Being sheltered in a Christian home her entire life had left her naïve to the savagery and brutishness of soldiers—especially in times of war. Her father hauls them through, jostling along the crowd, but still trying to keep a firm tether on her mother's tiny grasp.

But, the tremoring wave of men, women, and children pull the family apart, tearing a seam right through the interlaced fingers. Right through the hope; the faith; the strength of the Raul family. Petra's mother chokes on her husband's name, a soundless scream poised on her tongue as she loses sight of his familiar features in a sea of faces.

And then they hear it—smell it on the air. Death has caught up in smoke and ash and spark. The tiny girl feels the electric current shudder down her spine like a live wire, and her eyes widen as they behold the mighty mass of destruction.

"Oh God, it is here. Another peculiar Titan…" someone utters just beside the mother and daughter, desperately clinging to one another. All in some vain hope that together they'd be safe. How foolish, death chides.

"Get those cannons reloaded! FIRE!" The cannon balls do nothing as the hulking, armored mass begins running like a trained athlete toward the wall—toward the bustling, panicked crowd.

By some miracle, Petra's father finds his way back to his family, a loyal dog sniffing out his pups, and tugs them through the gate. Panting, they sprint toward the boat just as the gate is smashed like a mere doll house by the Titan. Petra watched in fascination as the profound beast released a string of steam from its mouth. As if Hell were perhaps living inside it, she considered; as if it could no longer bear to hold all the pain and heat and suffering of its misery anymore. Something in Petra ached at that thought—ached and understood.

XXX

"The cities lost." One emerald swathed soldier stated.

"So…Maria is…a…a lost cause?" Incredulous, a younger, less seasoned scout stammered.

"Seems that way." A dark, quiet sigh among the nervous, constant chatter of the small fugitive stronghold. "What's more, we don't have the resources to feed all of these people, not with the loss of the outer ring of fields. I have a bad feeling about this—a very bad feeling."

The apprehensive scout coughs up an anxious laugh. "Oh, c'mon. Haven't we all suffered enough? The king wouldn't do anything brash to dilute humanities numbers…would he, Levi?"

The dark haired captain regarded the boy with withering, flint gray eyes—like a touch of freezing cold water—but offered nothing. A muscle in the side of the boy's cheek quivered as he repeated, "Would he?"

Large, innocent amber eyes appeared just as Levi turned from the boy, deciding it best not to give into his innate cynicism, skepticism, or sarcasm—the mood seemed too deteriorated. Levi gave the small girl a careful, measured look. Children usually baffled him, but this one, ah—this one stunned him for an entirely different reason. There was a likeness to another small, big eyed girl he'd known once.

 _Isabel_.

"Do you know what's going on out there, sir?" She said by way of greeting.

He beheld her with all of the gentleness of a steel door. "A complete shit show. Lots of Titan's feasting on the poor souls left behind." A gasp covered by a tiny splay of fingers. "Oh, just be glad it isn't you and save your crocodile tears."

Needless to say the man was _not_ a candidate for babysitter of the year…

"Jesus, Levi! Go easy on the kid," a buxom female scout hissed, a barbed scar disfiguring her lovely face.

The amber-eyed girl peered through a ray of delicate lashes, slicing right through the constellations of perpetual tears gathering there. "Don't you have a heart, sir? Don't you have people you care about—those that you wish not to die?"

"No," said Levi sharply, pivoting on his heel. He quelled the many faces appearing at the back of his mind. _Now's not the time to reminisce…_

 _ **Then when is it?**_ His heart cried. He ignored it.

But, the girl hounding him, dogging each step resolutely was not so easy to shut out. He couldn't seem to lose her no matter how deftly he maneuvered the crowd. The band of scouts snickered at Levi's discomfort.

"You're lying. I can tell. Mommy says that people who lie go to Hell. I don't want that to happen to you—you should amend your mistake and tell the truth, sir."

It continued this way for the entirety of the Scouts stay in the refugee's makeshift camp. They helped supply the people with what food and water they could afford, and the wide eyed, tenacious girl trailed the movements of the young, wry scout. Occasionally tugging on his emerald cloak just to remind him of her constant, irritating presence.

He handed a family bits of molded bread, she was there, smiling toothily in place of his thin lipped frown. He dispatched a dozen buckets of mostly clean water to a motley group of survivors, she was there to help pass them along. He sat moodily listening to the horrors of Maria, the city he should have saved, and she was there, eyes intent in their focus on his carefully schooled features.

"Don't you have someone else to bother kid?" He asked as twilight engulfed the sky in bars of aluminum and dark, ominous clouds.

"I find you interesting," she shrugged. A delicate movement of her shoulders.

"Funny," he stated dryly, "I find you annoying."

Undeterred, she shadowed his movements all the way to a dank, foul-smelling pub just on the corner of the street the Maria residents—what was left of them—were huddled upon. Turning swiftly—gracefully, she girl admired—Levi scowled down at her. "All right, stalker, where are your parents?"

Blinking, she circled around slowly. "I don't remember. I think—um—I…" Tears welled in her gleaming orbs, still burning brightly even in the onslaught of dense darkness. A few guttering candles did little to light the streets.

Heaving an irritated sigh, Levi grabbed the girls hand and began leading her down the street of terror-struck face—all twisted and writhing and torqueing with the pain still fresh in their breasts. They all looked the same, all wearing the same mask, all breathing the same ragged breaths. Levi swallowed uncomfortably—human emotion, or to be more exact, fear still made him uneasy.

Stepping around weeping, hollowed shadows, he drug the girl along. But, the loud clap of thunder overhead had her hurtling herself to the ground, burying herself beneath twig-like arms. Another belch of thunder emitted from the dark clouds overhead, and then came the rain, rung out of the sky like a wet blanket, pouring over the tear stained faced of men, women, and children.

"Petra?" A familiar motherly voice rang through the air, dancing along whipping sheets of wind. "Dear, is that you? Oh, thank goodness. We were so worried!"

Her tender fingers were there in an instant, wiping tears from her cherubic face. Levi stiffened at the scene, trying to shuffle away soundlessly, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. "Thank you, sir. Thank you for helping her find us."

Nodding, he avoided looking down at the little girl. Something about her still unsettled him. Something about her eyes and the way they watched him—with dilated pupils just big enough for him to glance his slight frame—allowed him to see straight into the kindness, a peculiar goodness, lurking in her heart. One that she seemed to project in his own—a piece of him that he rather left forgotten. An irretrievable, broken shard of glass piercing his heart.

He saw everything he wanted to be. Everything that she—that humanity needed. He saw his failures. His demise.

He saw the hero that she painted in watercolor upon her golden irises.

But, he could never be that man. He was not strong enough. Metallic bitterness stung his tongue as a man cloaked in black mocked him, threating him with a glittering blade.

" _ **You're still too weak, kid."**_

Those unwavering amber eyes screamed in protest: You are strong enough to save us all.

A wave of resolve—of calm, unwavering belief—swept up his spine, over his furled knuckles.

"Thank you, little one," he murmured, their eyes meeting momentarily. And, he was gone.

"Wha—? Petra, what was that about?"

She smiled mirthlessly. Sorrow was still too near, but there was hope in those unearthly bright eyes, shone like flames trapped within a sheet of ice.

It would be many years before the little girl would meet humanity's hero once again. Before hope would well so strongly behind tear covered lashes.


End file.
